Page 7 of Let’s Be Real

I laughed too. “Very true.”

For the first time since I’d walked into Adrian’s bathroom and found them both on the floor, I took a good look at her. She was dressed for a date in heels and a formfitting black dress that stopped mid-thigh. Her long, long legs were bare, and goose bumps pricked her skin.

“Are you cold?” I asked, already out of my seat.

“I’m okay.” She wrapped her arms around her middle.

“You’re cold.” I opened a few cabinets until I found one with extra linens and grabbed a folded blanket. She watched me shake it out and carefully lay it across her lap. “Adrian would be mad if I stood by while you turned into an ice cube in his absence, and we both know he’ll have enough to be pissed off about after he gets out of surgery.”

That made her smirk, though it was a touch too listless. “Recovery’s going to be a bitch.”

“Such a bitch,” I agreed. “Maybe we can rope in Rome and Ben to hold him down. They’re bigger than you and I combined. They can do it.”

“Sure, sure. Though…letting his brothers squash him is most likely contradictory to healing.”

“Right.” I rubbed my chin, pretending to think it over. “We’ll discuss it with the doctor. See what he says.”

This time, her smile reached her eyes, humor spreading from the corners like sunrays.

“I like that idea, Nate. We’ll go with it.”

I cocked my head. “You’re going to let me do the talking, aren’t you?”

“You’ll get all the credit, don’t worry.”

“Good. I’m glad. I already have enough to worry about.”

Just like that, the mood soured, and Samantha’s gaze drifted to the door. That was why they never sent me in first. I wasn’t good at this sort of thing.

Emotions.

Women.

Life.

Adrian’s appendix had ruptured before the doctors could open him up. What should have been a simple surgery wound up taking several hours, and, as expected, Adrian was pissed.

My brother didn’t do well with being told what to do, and he really didn’t like being helpless. He was fortunate to have Samantha, though. No matter how hateful he was, she laughed it off and continued taking care of him.

I’d gone down to the hospital cafeteria in search of coffee and something edible for Samantha and me when Ben and Roman arrived, identical looks of worry plastered on their faces. We rode the elevator together while they peppered me with questions.

“Why didn’t you call?” Ben asked, dragging his hand through his curls, a wild spray of corkscrews that suited him to a T.

“It was the middle of the night.”

“We would have come,” Roman argued. “What if—?”

I interrupted him, not wanting to hear him utter aloud the possibility of what could have gone wrong. “You have a newborn, Rome. There was nothing you could have done here.”

Roman had two small children—Jonah and Ruby—and Ben had a daughter, Katty. Pulling them from their beds in the middle of the night had been the farthest thing from my mind.

“Still.” He ground his molars, his jaw flickering. “I should have been able to make that choice.”

I lifted a shoulder. “I’m sorry. It happened fast. I made the decision I thought was right.”

Ben patted my arm. “You don’t need to be sorry. We’re just freaked out. Adrian…”

He didn’t need to finish. We all knew Adrian. If he’d ever been in pain, he’d hidden it so well none of us had known. We didn’t worry about him. He didn’t allow it. This was new, and strange, and vastly uncomfortable.